Our Own Private Hell
by GolfUniformNovember
Summary: The Black Arms Invasion was a trying time for many, including Shadow, Sonic, Doctor Eggman, and the commander of G.U.N to name a few, but what about the average enlisted soldier who isn't acclimated to changing the world? In a world seemingly hijacked by robots, aliens, and super-powered Mobians, how relevant is a military organization still playing by the rules of modern warfare?
1. Same Stuff Different Day?

Chapter One: Same Stuff Different Day?

 _We're always the bad guys, aren't we? The global military cabal dead set on ruling the world with an iron grip. The shadowy organization that "disappears" people or creating an endless supply of genetically modified living weapons with undying loyalty. Oh, and don't forget the mind control and the fact that your conditioner is conditioning your brain to agree with us. At least that's the picture you'd get from any news outlet nowadays. If it's bad and it isn't Robotnik, you can bet money someone's pinning it on us. It is almost as if everyone forgot our mandate as Guardians and all the good we've done over the course of over half a century. It's like everyone forgot the day we almost lost it all..._

 _May 16th 2014_

 _Fort Pendleworth_

 _27km Outside Station Square_

 _Invasion Minus 12 Hours_

It had the makings of a beautiful day as the sun poked it's head just above the horizon of Station Square. The orange glow of the sunrise, a cool temperature, and a slight breeze coming in from the west. Perfect running weather in the mind of a Ssgt. David Branson as the sun started to illuminate his T-shirt which had three simple letters printed on it. A "G", a "U", and lastly an "N".

Now Staff Sergeant Branson wasn't usually one for routine or early morning runs before he joined G.U.N, but military life for the past few years had remedied that. After running the interior perimeter of the base he'd grab breakfast from the mess and then hit either the weight room or the rifle range. He'd focus on his breathing as he rhythmically made contact with the Tarmac, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

He'd throw his mind back to what the twenty-year old him would have thought about this. Him, a soldier? In command of his own squad? Sure, just like some of the other kids he hung out with, he imagined things like this. Being in the ranks of the good and righteous fighting against the hordes of evil to uphold the noble ideas and virtues that every citizen of the United Federation holds dear. Of course his perception of this occupation changed with the passage of time, but he could see himself serving his country and fighting the good fight.

So when he enlisted at 20, it was just his luck that separatists in the eastern states calling themselves "The Hand of Freedom" were executing a violent attempt to split from the United Federation on the issues of trade, taxes, and self governance. G.U.N was sent to resolve the conflict and Private Branson was sent off to war. What followed was an insurgency, and what came after that were some dead G.U.N soldiers, a lot of dead insurgents, and patchwork relations with those eastern states ever since. That was five years ago, but the hurt of losing some of his friends still stung slightly for Branson, so he refocused on his run and the eventual finish-line.

He'd soon have his goal in sight — the mess hall's building. He'd break out into a dead sprint and run the last couple hundred meters to the door of the mess, and after catching his breath for half a minute, head inside.

 _Invasion Minus 5 Hours_

"Sarge, you sure you aren't getting old?" A corporal asked him, passing him on the physical training course.

"I'm only a couple years older than you, Royce." Branson replied. "Besides, I don't see you going out for morning runs. Someone need his beauty sleep?"

With that Branson would scale a cargo net obstacle at a slightly faster pace than Royce, the two now being neck and neck with only a sprint to the finish left. Other soldiers would chime in with words of encouragement as the two neared the finish line.

"Come on Sarge! I got ten bucks riding on this!" One soldier shouted

"Royce, I got a twenty down on this, and I sure as hell am not going to lose it!" Another one would yell.

"You got this Sarge!" Encouraged a third.

They would be only meters from the finish when Royce stumbled on a mound of dirt, throwing off his stride just enough for Branson to cross the line first. Money would change hands and mutterings of bad luck would be heard.

"I'll getcha next time Sarge," Royce said. "If I didn't trip I would have won."

"So you say Corporal, so you say." Branson replied. "Let's at least agree that we're pretty much even, okay? And you owe me a round next time we get weekend leave."

"Sure thing Sarge. I think one of those tropical milkshakes with those tiny umbrellas would suit you just fine." Royce said with a wide grin on his face. It seemed that some times corporal Jason Royce was one of those people who you could never quite tell if they were joking. He was also one of those people who would pull pranks during boot camp, and it would be a long month or so if you were the unfortunate soul who was his bunkmate.

"Jason, if you buy me one of those I'm going to have you cleaning the bunks with nothing but your hair comb." David would jest.

"Okay, so no tropical milkshakes with umbrellas..." Jason responded. "What about a two litre bottle of diet soda?"

To this Staff Sergeant Branson could only laugh.

 _Central City Space Observatory_

 _Invasion Minus 4 Hours_

A senior astronomer would quickly her gather notes, charts and loose papers then scurry out of her somewhat spacious office. Papers falling by the wayside with each hurried step, the astrologist would head down the hall towards an office on the corner of the floor. Once there, she'd knock on the door and it would quickly swing open revealing an old man in a white lab coat, which was an odd sight to see at an observatory.

"Ah! Doctor Hennessy! What news do you have for me?" The old man said in accented English, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of a new discovery.

"Well, Doctor Schneider, these photographs from our satellite telescopes came in just a few minutes ago, and they seem to show a comet that we haven't identified. From what I can gather from these images, it looks as if it will pass very close to our atmosphere." Doctor Hennessy replied, excitement tugging at her face and in her speech.

"Haven't identified it as in we haven't been able to confirm which one of the comets it is, Doctor Hennessy?" Schneider questioned.

"Haven't identified it as in we haven't ever seen it before, Doctor Schneider." She'd let it sink in for a second. "We just found a new comet, Doctor."

A smile would creep across Doctor Schneider's face. "Come inside, Miss Hennessy," He'd say. "We have much to celebrate!"

"If it's all the same, Doctor, I'd rather get back to work and find out as much as I can about this comet from additional photographs that will be at a much higher resolution." Doctor Hennessy would reply.

"Ah, but Doctor Hennessy, it is not every day you find a comet." Doctor Schneider would protest. "Besides, all of that boring cataloging and identification goes much faster after a glass of champagne. Believe me, I have tried it!" With that Doctor Schneider would let loose a raucous laugh and beckon Dr. Hennessy inside his office.

Despite his age, Schneider would waste no time in digging out a bottle of champagne and two thin wine glasses. He would pour a small amount in the glass closest to Dr. Hennessy and quite a more generous amount into his own glass. "I'm not the one working right now," would be his justification.

"So, Doctor Hennessy, what do you plan on naming this comet?" Doctor Schneider inquired.

"Uhm…" The female astronomer would think it over for a couple of seconds. "How about Hennessy's Comet?"

"Ah yes. Short, sweet, and to the point." Schneider would say. He'd then raise his glass.

"To Hennessy's Comet!" He'd say.

"To Hennessy's Comet!" She'd echo. The two of them would then follow the toast with a clinking of glasses and then drain them.

At that moment, higher resolution photos would finally have been transmitted and downloaded from other satellites, and they would have a very interesting tale to tell about "Hennessy's Comet".

 **A/N: So there it is, the start of a story and the start of my activity on this site! But by no means does this restrict you in your criticism of whatever this story turns out to be. Tell me about plot holes, grammatical mistakes, spelling mistakes, ways I can make sentences and paragraphs sound better and more cohesive, anything and everything that I can change to improve my writing. And don't mince words either! Your feedback, while not required, would be greatly appreciated as it shows me what I need to fix or things I should consider going forward. Stay frosty and stay safe!**

 **-GolfUniformNovember**


	2. Deja Vu

Chapter 2: Deja Vu

 _The people who first got the information about the comet were some astrologists up in Central City. I talked with one of them after this whole mess got sorted out, and he said when he saw the images of the comet he didn't know what to think. To him they defied convention and made little sense. Now this is a man who studies space rocks for a living, so if it puzzles him it is something that isn't normal. Not normal at all._

 _Invasion Minus 2 Hours 51 Minutes_

 _Central City Space Observatory_

"This... This defies any and all explanation." A group of scientists would be huddled around a bank of computers.

"The ridges all over the comet are all wrong, and are those some sort of propulsion systems at the rear?" An astronomer asked. "That doesn't belong on a comet! Or an asteroid! What is this thing?"

To all of the scientists present, the latest printouts of what had recently been dubbed "Hennessey's Comet" had baffled them. As they examined the pictures it was soon realized that this was not an ordinary comet, and some speculated that it was entirely possible that this could be an alien craft of some sort. These scientists, who under normal circumstances would have been laughed out of the room and advised on seeking mental help, now had quantifiable proof that this comet could be an alien spacecraft. The seemingly organic components of the comet had become apparent when photographs of higher and higher resolution were downloaded from the multiple space telescopes the observatory has functioning. It truly was baffling due to the fact that life is not supposed to exist in space, at least not organisms of that size.

Dr. Schneider was keeping unusually calm for the moment. "Let us just work on making a computer model of the comet from what we can see, _ja?_ " He said. "Arguing and debating over what this comet is or could contain is pointless. Our goal is to work together to explain this anomaly."

At Doctor Schneider's behest the gaggle of PhDs, MBAs, and other scientific degrees sped off towards their assigned computer stations and began creating a 3D mockup of the comet based on the very photographs they were arguing about minutes before.

"I want this model finished as soon as possible and sent to my office computer. This is potentially the biggest moment of your career."

With this keeping them busy, Dr. Schneider retreated to his office with some of the higher quality pictures and shut the door. Once inside he dropped his calm façade and wiped his balding forehead with a handkerchief. The elderly doctor would take a sip of water from a glass he had on his desk and then place a phone call.

The line would ring twice before someone on the other end picked up. Greeted by nothing but silence at first, Doctor Schneider spoke.

"This is the office of the Secretary of Defence, name and credentials please." A male voice devoid of enthusiasm said.

"Hello, this is Doctor Johan Schneider, head of the Central City Space Observatory. I would like to speak to the Secretary of Defence." There would be a nervous edge to Schneider's voice.

"Is the Secretary expecting your call, sir?" The nameless operator asked

"No he is not, but this could potentially be a matter of national security!" Schneider said. The voice on the other end would sigh.

"Sir, do you know how many callers claim to have issues of national security that require either the President's or the Secretary's attention? A bunch of prank calls from Ben Dover or Hugh Janus." An awkward silence would fill the air and all that could be heard was the crackling and popping of the line.

"Sorry about that sir, your credentials check out. Please hold one moment while I connect you to the Secretary of Defence."

The line would beep and start ringing again. Dr. Schneider would take a second to form what he wanted to say to Secretary of Defence Joseph Connolly. The phone would ring for a total of five times before anyone picked up.

"This is Joseph Connolly, Secretary of Defence. I understand I am on the line with a Doctor Johan Schneider from the Central City Space Observatory?" A southern accent would ask, breaking Dr. Schneider's train of thought.

"Yes sir, I have mu-" Dr. Schneider began before SecDef Connolly cut him off.

"Tell me, Doctor, how does an astronomer with his head stuck up in the clouds find something that is a 'matter of national security'?" Connolly interrupted, irritation tugging at the edges of his voice.

"I was just getting to that Mr. Connolly." Replied Schneider. "Is this a secure line?"

The Secretary of Defence would seem flustered at this. "Secure? Why of course this line is secure! This is the goddamn White House for Christ's sake!"

"Calm down, Mr. Connolly, I am only making sure." The elder doctor assured. "Now what I am about to tell you may seem absurd at first, but I assure you I will provide information backing up all of my claims."

And so he told him.

 _Invasion Minus 0 Hours 58 Minutes_

 _The White House_

 _Office of the Secretary of Defence_

"Dear God…" That was all the Secretary of Defence could manage after what he had heard. It was almost an hour after he had gotten off of the phone with Doctor Schneider and he still didn't quite comprehend it. Aliens? Headed here, to our planet? That astrologist was right when he said that all of this was very hard to believe. But the story was plausible. Dr. Johan Schneider was a junior assistant at the now antiquated Helix Observatory half a century ago. The day in question suspiciously had all records expunged, and he reminded himself that G.U.N had a much longer leash back then. Making a few memos and papers disappear was something that was easily accomplished, especially when you have men in dark suits flashing badges and threatening treason if you don't comply.

Still, it was just the word of a seventy-three-year-old scientist who's memory might not be the sharpest. It jived with everything else the doctor had said, but Joseph Connolly hadn't become Secretary of Defence by following hunches. As the late-day sun would stream through his office he'd mull over what the doctor told him.

 _Invasion Minus 2 Hours 28 Minutes_

 _"I was a young man, in my early twenties when it happened on the 16th of May, fifty years to the day to be exact. It was at first nothing too special, simply the discovery of another comet. Our space program was just getting off of the ground, mind you I was a junior assistant at a private company, so we did not have access to the materials that built the Space Colony. We did have government contracts though, testing satellites and the like." Doctor Schneider paused to take a drink of water from his glass. "We had spotted this comet and were cataloging its movement across the sky when it did something very strange._

 _It changed course and headed straight for the ARK._

 _I am not sure what it was that happened aboard that ship, but the next day we had visitors from the government. I'm not sure what department they were from, only that they dressed in dark suits and made veiled threats. They made us sign an Official Secrets Act that prevented is from speaking about what we saw to anyone. We had already signed one when we had discovered the ARK, but this time they took it a step further. We were forced to hand over any and all mention of the new comet we found, as well as all documents from that day and the day before. Before they left, the government men told us that if any of this got out, they'd lock us away and leave us to rot._

SecDef Connolly knew G.U.N liked to keep things hush-hush, and he understood why. If the general public knew that aliens had visited this planet, it was more than likely mass-hysteria would ensue. The stock market would tank and people would be up in arms about the current administration and all of the secrets they were hiding. People got bad enough when there were blackouts for extended periods of time, and news of aliens would bring an added level of instability. He probably would do the same thing if he was in charge. What you don't know won't hurt you, right?

He rhythmically tapped his fingers on his desk and tried to figure out how the hell he was going to explain this to the president.

 **A/N: Well, that's another chapter finished, and it seems that the invasion clock is ticking down to almost nothing. Once again I'd truly appreciate it if you, reader, could review this chapter and tell me how to make it better and maybe outline some things that I should do to make this even better. I know it's a stretch starting out a Sonic FanFic with no Sonic and no discernible Sonic Characters, but bear with me please. Things will pick up next chapter when the clock hits zero. Stay Frosty and stay safe!**


	3. Invasion

Chapter 3: Invasion

 _From what I've heard, the first few minutes of the invasion were complete chaos. An idyllic day ruined, things falling from the sky, people running everywhere just to escape their doom. Sounds like something out of a mediocre horror novel doesn't it? Aliens coming to our planet to take it over and eradicate all intelligent life for whatever purpose they have. But it was real for a lot of people. It was so real that people lost their possessions, their homes, and their minds. People also lost their lives._

 _Invasion Minus 0 Hours 0 Minutes_

 _Westopolis_

The sun was making its lazy journey towards the horizon as afternoon stretched into evening. The citizens of Westopolis would be doing a myriad of things: walking a dog, going out with friends, or taking public transit as the last waves of nine-to-fivers punched out and headed home.

Most of them never got there.

The skies quickly shifted from the warm glow of reds and oranges to an inky black as though a premature dusk had set in. The droves of people who were minding their own business suddenly stopped where they were and looked up as one, most wondering where the calm hues of the evening had fled. No one moved, and no one dared to breathe. It was as if the city was frozen in time, taking a final snapshot of what it was before impending doom rained from above.

Impacts rocked the main roads as meteors with the radius of a car-length rained down upon the street, galvanizing the shocked pedestrians into action. Screams of terror with regard to the meteors morphed into ones that would curdle blood as monstrosities as black as the sky above leapt from the craters created by the meteors. The were soon followed as the skies opened up, dropping abomination after abomination through what looked like a portal in the sky. Some would say the lucky ones were those who managed to find shelter or found a temporary place to hide.

Others would say it was those who died almost immediately.

The open area of main intersections quickly became a kill-zone as lasers and bullets filled the air and mingled with the screams of the dying. The red glow of the sun was all but forgotten as people tried to stop themselves from becoming a red mist. It was a losing battle for armed civilians, as for every Black alien they took down, three seemed to take its place.

At this current rate, Westopolis would fall within three hours.

 _Invasion Plus 0 Hours 13 Minutes_

 _Everywhere_

Things looked bad. Actually, if there wasn't an organized resistance soon mankind and the Mobian race would be forced to live in caves in about a week or two. Every major population centre that was visible from space was targeted. Westopolis, Central City, Station Square, and most of the other major cities across the world. Luckily, due to its hidden location inside the Great Forest, Knothole was untouched for now. Local law enforcement had been mobilized quickly and were currently holding their own against the forces of the Black Arms while performing the added task of trying to locate and evacuate as many civilians as possible. They weren't going to win any battles on their own, but they could buy time for reinforcements.

 _Invasion Plus 0 Hours 26 Minutes_

 _Central City_

The scene blocks from the gates of the White House was not looking too good. The streets already looked like they belonged in a post-apocalyptic world with burnt-out cars and debris strewn across the roadway.

Constable Mark Rodney wasn't feeling too sure that his standard issue 9mm pistol was going to stop anything that had could torch a car, but there were people out there with less than even that to protect themselves. He trudged along the deserted street, his head on a swivel as he kept a wary eye out for people taking shelter or those "Black Aliens" that had been causing this terrible devastation. So far the coast was clear, but that didn't do much to calm his nerves. As a result, he almost jumped out if his uniform when his radio went off.

"Central to all officers out in the field, be advised that we are setting up an evacuation zone at Crystal Park at the intersection of 7th and Main Street for survivors. Repeat. All officers are advised to bring survivors to Crystal Park at 7th and Main so we can get them outside the city." His radio buzzed the information, the words echoing off of the walls of the buildings. One last piece of advice would follow.

"Keep your eyes open. Central Out."

With that he'd continue on his walk and roll a few things over in his mind. They were stretched far too thinly for this. Sure he had Nicholson a block over, but the police department only had so much manpower. One officer per street downtown with around 15 to spare setting up the EVAC site at the park was all they could manage. If these creatures had made it to the more suburban areas… Well he didn't want to think of that right now.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't notice the big black tree he had walked into. Except trees didn't grow in the middle of the road. And trees don't carry swords. Mercifully, the end of Constable Mark Rodney, CCPD, was a swift decapitating strike.

 _Invasion Plus 0 Hours 34 Minutes_

 _Central City_

 _The White House_

The scene at various government offices across the world was a flurry of controlled chaos. Phone lines were swamped with calls between departments with all parties trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. Hell wasn't a bad description for what was happening with demonic aliens falling from the sky and whatnot.

Attendants scurried like rats, bringing the latest updates to various more important White House staff. The President was currently meeting with the Vice President, his chief of staff, military advisors, and the Secretary of Defence. Also present was someone most people in the room only knew as the Commander, who was the commanding officer of all G.U.N forces and was only outranked by the commander in chief, Mr. President.

"Gentlemen, I gathered you all here because I want to know some things." The President said after everyone was settled. "I want to know what the hell is going on, and what the hell we're going to do about it!"

"Mister President, it seems that we are currently being invaded by aliens." An advisor stated flatly. "These alie-"

"I know about the aliens, Major. What I don't know is if they have issued any demands or have any sort of conceivable endgame!" The President interrupted.

"Sir, we have not received any sort of demands or manifesto at this time." A colonel from the Navy said. "It seems that whatever these aliens are, sir, they are intent on slaughtering us wholesale."

"Thank you, Colonel." The President replied. "Now, what are we going to do about this gentlemen? We obviously cannot sit by and watch as our nation is slaughtered in front of us."

The Major, who was from G.U.N's Army branch, decided to speak again. "Sir, initial data has shown that these aliens have so far targeted populated areas such as Station Square and here in Central City. I believe that if we begin to evacuate citizens to safe zones and then proceed with a counterattack on these aliens and try to drive them back to whatever godforsaken place they came from." He ended his plan with confidence that immediately be put to the test by the Navy Colonel.

"And if your plan doesn't work? We don't know what we are up against, Major. We could very well be sending brave men and women to their deaths if we find out that our weapons are ineffective." The Colonel retorted. The Major's response would be quick.

"If that is the case, then I suggest we bomb the cities until there is nothing left standing."

"And the civilians left inside? Our own men left? Major, that plan is _way_ out of line!" The Navy Colonel would be irate at the major's suggestion. "The damage to our own cities would more than likely outweigh the damage these strikes would cause enemy forces!"

"Do you have a plan, Colonel?" The President asked, bored with the intra-branch fighting.

"No, sir. I do not conduct military stratagem based on whims, sir." The Colonel replied.

"Then we will follow the suggestions of Major Rice until more comprehensive plans can be realized." Said the President. "Does anyone have anything else to add?"

The Secretary of Defence would take this time to add his two cents.

"Mr. President, I have credible intelligence that these aliens are based out of a comet that is orbiting the planet. Perhaps if we could scrape together a shuttle and send some fighter pilots with weapons experience, or better yet our mech pilots and robotic troops, I think we could hit these things where it hurts."

"Another valid idea." Praised the President. "Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to have a quiet word with the Commander and my Chief of Staff as well as the Vice President. If you have any developments with the situation here or in any of our other major cities, let my secretary know and it'll be brought to my attention." With that, everybody the President did not mention hurried out of the room.

The President would let out a pent-up sigh and interlock his fingers before speaking.

"I want everyone to be frank with me, what are my options?"

The Commander, who had been silent up until this time, spoke.

"Mr. President, the only thing we can try to do at this moment is to meet the enemy wherever they show up and contain them while we evacuate any remaining civilians. We can always rebuild cities, but we can't do that without people. We need to get boots on the ground as fast as possible and try to get out in front of their advance." The Commander stated. There were just too many unknowns at the moment, but getting combat teams to test enemy strength and tactics would be vital if Earth's population didn't want to end up conquered or dead.

The President answered without hesitation. "Do whatever you need to do, Tower. Just make sure we'll win the day." He'd then turn to his Vice President and Chief of Staff.

"How is this going to impact the public? Do you think we should send out a statement? Joey, you have to throw me something here!" The President would slowly be losing his cool. He still wanted to be elected for a second term, and no one in the history of the Presidency had to deal with a crisis like this. Luckily, his Chief of Staff came to his rescue.

"Jack, everyone out there is concerned with not ending up dead. Releasing a statement would be pointless now. If anything we should have local networks broadcast where we are setting up evacuation sites. Once we have everyone out of harm's way, then we can make a statement." Said the Chief of Staff.

The President nodded. "I'll have my speechwriters get on it." With that, the most powerful man in the United Federation would turn his chair to face the window and feel quite powerless indeed.

 **A/N: Well there you have it, a third chapter! There's not really that much else I can do with these notes, unless any of you want to suggest ideas or ways I could improve my writing! Thanks to everyone who's dropped a fav and a follow so far, it does help with the writing and motivation. And as a final note no I do not own the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, I think that much is obvious.**


	4. This is NOT A DRILL

Chapter Four: This is NOT A DRILL

 _When the call came in for us to mount up, I didn't quite believe it. Aliens? No one bought it at first. Even a few of the privates thought it was April Fools a month and a half late. We all thought that maybe it was some sort of readiness drill to see how fast we could react to paratroopers, and someone up the chain of command was having a little laugh, but as the news reports rolled in from across the country, we sure as hell knew it was for real. And we were going to be dropped right in the thick of it._

 _Invasion Plus 0 Hours 47 Minutes_

 _Fort Pendleworth_

 _27km Outside Station Square_

The klaxon of the base alarm sounded clearly as hundreds of soldiers ran for their gear lockers. This was something that they had been training for since the day they got off the bus at boot camp. Perhaps they envisioned a more domestic threat, not some sort of cheap-looking sci-fi aliens. Cheap or not though, these aliens were tearing apart the uptowns and downtowns of major cities and killing anything and everything in their way. This included unarmed civilians who were lambs ready for slaughter if the military didn't get itself in gear and start pushing back against the invaders.

Of course they didn't learn their enemies were aliens from the higher-ups. They were told that a trained opposing force was attacking various cities across the country. The fact that this opposing force was extraterrestrial came from news coverage of the invasion. Reporters who could either be called brave or foolhardy put their lives on the line for the scoop of a lifetime. Eyes were glued to television sets that showed black and red monstrosities roaming the streets before the feed was cut at the source. Platoon after platoon packed their gear with renewed fervour as it became ever more apparent that each moment they wasted could mean life or death for hundreds of people. Soon the entirety of Fort Pendleworth's armed personnel marshalled at Hangar One, where the base commander would brief them further.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our homes are under attack by an unknown enemy," the base's commander, a two-star General, began. "I know that all of us have family in the affected areas of this invasion, so I will keep this as brief as possible while giving you all of the information you need to know.

"Insofar, it seems that the main target of this invasion has been the major population centres. Station Square, Central City, Westopolis, Empire City, the whole of the United Federation is under siege. Local law enforcement is holding for now and are also setting up evacuation sites. These EVAC sites are to be defended at all costs as we ferry people to safer areas. We will be staging as Station Square International Airport, our forward command centre, where specific companies will divert to their designated cities and sectors."

The General would take a few moments before resuming. "Alpha Company, you will be taking Central City. Bravo Company, Westopolis. Charlie Company, Empire City. Delta Company…"

The General would continue on, but Branson's ears would only be focused on where Bravo Company would be deployed. He hadn't paid much attention to the news broadcasts, but what he had gleaned from half-heard snippets wasn't good. Westopolis was the hardest hit by the invasion. He'd be going into the belly of the beast.

"… Golf Company, you'll be at the airport as a line of defence. May God be with us all." With that the General would conclude his speech and step down from the podium.

 _Invasion Plus 0 Hours 53 Minutes_

Squads would be rushing towards their designated helicopters with rifles and packs in hand. Pilots would just be finishing up their pre-flight checks and soldiers would be going over their mental checklist once more, straining to determine if there was something they missed the past twenty-three times.

"We are wheels-up in five mikes!" came from the cockpit as the co-pilot gave the five-minute warning. "Looks like next stop: Hell on Earth. Hope you guys come out alright."

"Thanks for the optimism Boyle, now can you focus on getting this bird in the air so I can focus on my men?" This was a new voice that came from the rear hatch of the helicopter. A figure in black combat fatigues like the rest of the men stepped into the fuselage of the bird. The thing that set him apart from the rest of the people in the fuselage is that he had a bar on his shoulder that identified him as a lieutenant, as opposed to the chevrons of those between the ranks of private and sergeant.

"Lieutenant Raymond, it's glad to see you have finally made it sir." Branson supplied. Everyone in the helicopter except the pilots stood and saluted the newcomer to the helicopter.

"At ease." Lt. Raymond said, returning the salutes with one of his own and taking a seat beside Corporal Royce. The thrum of the helicopter blades would become louder as did the whine of the engines when the pilots finished their final pre-flight checks. Every occupant of the helicopter would be seated and busying themselves with something. Soon they were off the ground along with two other transport choppers and headed towards the airport and whatever trials awaited them.

Branson gazed around the helicopter, looking at his fellow soldiers. Some of them were fiddling with their web gear, making sure it was on tight. Others were inspecting their rifles for the most minuscule of faults or field stripping and cleaning certain components. Others still had dug out their dog tags, silver crosses, or other religious symbols and murmured a prayer to whatever deity they worshipped.

He turned his focus to himself, supposedly calm cool and collected. The only outward sign of his nervousness and apprehension was the slight twitching of his right hand. He didn't know exactly when he picked it up, but it was sometime during his deployment in the eastern states. Now that he thought about it, he realized that he was just as nervous as the rest of them. He brought his left hand over to clamp down on his right, and turned to look out the window. He did this to hopefully soothe his jangling nerves so he could become the level-headed warfighter that his unit needed. What he saw did not calm him in the slightest.

A blood-red sky obscured by vast swaths of inky black clouds gave a hellish appearance to the sky, as if they were flying into purgatory instead of the city. Flashes could be seen in those dark masses of foreboding, most likely chain-lightning flickering between clouds. The static charges being transferred made for an eerie-looking sky, but that was somewhat superficial. Worst of all were the many fires burning below. At this height he could not distinguish whether it was dozens of small fires or a couple of large infernos, but the thought of all that destruction achieved in such a short amount of time bothered him.

He'd resume looking around the cabin and catch Royce's eye. The corporal would take one look outside and whistle softly.

"I know we always say we'd regroup in hell after we die," he said "but I don't think I died stepping in to this bird."

Nervous laughter echoed in the enclosed space and a few tentative grins were shared. Everyone was jumpy, not knowing what kind of enemy lay in wait for them. Branson fiddled with his dog tags and stared out the window again. Two attack helicopters was headed in for an airstrike as it flew past them, rocket pods and chain guns fully loaded. The chatter from the two pilots bled over onto their channel.

"This is Helix 1, just approaching the outskirts of Station Square. Heading for uptown with a full rack of ammo to start bringing the rain on these fools." The pilot of the lead attack chopper said.

"Helix 1, this is Helix 2, remember our restricted Rules of Engagement." Responded the pilot of the second attack chopper. "No firing on buildings that aren't confirmed clear of civvies or law enforcement, stay away from residential areas, and no shooting at anything within 600m of EVAC site Echo."

"Copy that Helix 2, we'll keep our weapons tight. One out."

The pilot of the lead chopper then pushed the cyclic forward and shot off towards uptown Station Square. The second pilot followed, peeling northward to fly almost side by side with its partner. With that, the cabin would be devoid of sound save for the jangling of dog tags and charms.

The airport would be in sight now, and the occupants could see the vehicles and peoples below. They were all rushing to get somewhere, the evacuees and soldiers alike. Tents were hastily being pitched along the runways closest to the airport as temporary shelters and as a registry to catalogue the survivors. Just as their group of transport choppers touched down, a load of civilians rushed off a similar helicopter around 100m away. They would be shepherded by other military personnel towards the cluster of tents closer to Terminal A of Station Square International Airport.

The rear hatch of the helicopter opened and Branson's squad departed the aircraft. Instead of heading towards the group of tents like the evacuated civilians, the headed towards the nearest aircraft hanger at the pace of a brisk jog. The other squads that made up their platoon were leaving their own helicopters as Branson's left the evening sky behind and entered the hangar.

 _Station Square International Airport_

 _Invasion Plus 1 Hour 25 Minutes_

Inside the hangar were numerous men and women working a communications system as well as around 90 armed soldiers spread out across the room. Noticing the arrival of the final platoon, one of the Comms officers took off his headset and beckoned Lt. Raymond and Ssgt. Branson over to him.

"Okay, so here's the low-down," the Comms officer would begin. "We're gonna need you to try and EVAC the rest of the civilians in each of your sectors. Now your platoon will be taking downtown, so you've got a bunch of high-rise buildings to search.

"You'll bring them to the courtyard of Westopolis City Hall, that's your EVAC site. You have until 2300 hours to do this because if things get out of hand we'll have to go Anvil Down and glass the city."

Anvil Down protocol was a scorched earth tactic. G.U.N would pull out of the city and then proceed to drop whatever ordinance was necessary to eliminate the threat. This could range from standard missiles and bombs to thermobaric or fuel-air bombs to even the nuclear option of it was deemed to be appropriate. Not a storm anyone would want to be caught in the middle of. The time as of right now was 1936 hours, or 7:36 PM. They had less than three and a half hours to either neutralize the alien threat or get everyone out of Westopolis.

"I've heard some things about the situation out there, it isn't pretty." The Comms officer said. "Keep your eyes open out there, hooah?"

"Hooah." Lt. Raymond would respond. "Baker Platoon, mount up! We have some people to save!"

Baker platoon would make its way to a group of olive military vehicles and clamber inside. Branson took the back seat of one of the lead Humvees and sat down, and Royce clambered in next to him.

"Hey Sarge, you aren't gonna let these aliens get me, right?" The corporal asked.

"Only if you don't let them shoot ya, Royce." Answered Branson. But somehow he thought that even that would be a difficult task. The engine of the Humvee roared to life Bravo Company headed off to Westopolis.

 **A/N: I'm back I guess. Sorry if you wanted or expected an actual update schedule. Unfortunately I cannot oblige you in that regard, but I can post more chapters as soon as possible. Catch you all next time.**


	5. Out Of The Frying Pan

Chapter 5: Out of the Frying Pan…

 _Stepping out of the Humvee and into downtown, it was eerie. The red sky, black clouds, small fires, and partially-destroyed buildings, that would make even the most composed of is have our doubts. The kicker was the silence. It was unnatural. All you'd hear would be the whistling of the wing or the crackling of a fire. No sounds that suggested any hint of combat, just the aftermath. It was like stepping out of reality and into the apocalypse._

 _Downtown Westopolis_

 _Invasion Plus 1 Hour 48 Minutes_

 _3 Hours 1 Minute Until Anvil Down Protocol_

The convoy of military vehicles had finally made its way to Downtown Westopolis. Baker Platoon of Bravo Company dismounted and secured their immediate position. All was clear for the moment, but that did nothing to settle the nerves of the soldiers one bit.

"It's too quiet," commented Royce, "you'd think we would have seen one of those alien things by now, huh?"

"Cut the chatter, corporal." Said Lt. Raymond. "I don't like it either, but you're bound to jinx us or something. Murphy's Law."

"Yes sir." Replied Royce. Branson knew everybody was thinking it, and he also knew that whatever happened it wouldn't be Royce's fault.

The damage done to the city made their job of finding any remaining people that much harder. It was hard to tell the structural damage from outside with some of the buildings, and with others the damage to the exterior would be superficial. So far, all they had found were empty buildings. They had just cleared their first two blocks when their radio lit up.

"CONTACT FRONT!" A yell came from the radio.

"This is Yankee 3, we're being engaged by the enemy at the intersection of 5th and Main Street, map grid Three Zero Niner, Seven Niner Eight," the soldier on the other end of the radio sounded frantic. "Tangos are approaching from bearing 224°! Requesting any available units near our position provide support!" The soldier went on. Lieutenant Raymond would immediately engage his throat-mic and radio a response.

"Yankee 3 this is Bravo 2, we will be able to provide support in fifteen mikes. Interrogative, can you tell us what enemy strength and disposition is looking like?"

"Solid copy Bravo 2, enemy numbers are around four zero personnel. See you in fifteen, out."

Now that they were aware of the fight going, everyone swore they could hear the sound of gunfire. Raymond didn't miss a beat, however, and had the platoon moving. Branson checked his rifle once again, making sure that the sight attached to it was properly mounted. Lieutenant Raymond moved over to Branson and pulled him aside.

"Staff Sergeant, I want your squad to take point. Remember, guns up and shoot anything that isn't human or Mobian." The lieutenant said, stressing the point of not killing any Mobians. There was a slight hatred for Mobians within the enlisted ranks of G.U.N that stemmed either from the fact that due to Sonic and the Freedom Fighters G.U.N was becoming less effective by comparison, or because of a Mobian's uncanny resemblance to its respective animal . Branson nodded, and thumbed the fire-selector off of safe.

"Squad," he boomed "We're taking point. Stay frosty and shoot anything that looks like it doesn't belong on this planet." After a few seconds he added"That doesn't include Mobians."

Royce and the ten others that made up their squad nodded in agreement and made their way to the front of the group, weapons up and ready. They made their way quickly yet cautiously towards 5th and Main, the sounds of weapons discharge steadily rising in volume. Lieutenant Raymond would radio Yankee 3 again.

"Yankee 3 this is Bravo 2, be advised friendlies are moving in on your six o'clock." He spoke into the radio.

"Copy that Bravo 2, glad you could join the party." The radio operator of Yankee 3 sounded relieved.

Branson would look back at Raymond who would give him a nod. The Staff Sergeant would motion for the rest of his squad to move up to the intersection of 4th and Main, the pointman peering down his rifle's scope as he scanned the street ahead for anything.

"It's clear Sarge," the pointman said. "We got a group of friendlies a block up, probably Yankee 3."

"Thanks, Specialist." Said Branson. "Let's get going then!"

Branson's squad made their way up the street quickly, guns trained on the various windows and doorways lest they fall prey to ambush. The towers of splintered glass and buckled metal made the high-rise buildings a perfect spot to engage a larger force, giving one the high ground as well as a large number of options for cover. Luckily for the squad moving to 5th and Main, an ambush was not in the cards.

As the squad approached the intersection they were able to assess the situation. The firefight was evenly matched, with the aliens taking cover behind burnt-out cars and Yankee 3 returning fire from behind their Humvees. It didn't look as if either side had lost a man, but Bravo 2 was hoping to change that.

Staff Sergeant Branson sought temporary refuge behind a bus stop and contacted his commanding officer.

"Lieutenant Raymond, the way up is clear," Branson stated. "As it stands right now neither Yankee 3 nor the enemy have taken any casualties. Targets are behind parked cars approximately seventy metres from Yankee 3's location. Repeat, enemy is seven zero metres from Yankee 3's location."

The Staff Sergeant disengaged his radio and thought about how he could approach this situation. If he could suppress the enemy with some of the heavier weapons both Bravo 2 and Yankee 3 had at their disposal, then a team of around eight men could flank through a building either on the left or the right side of the street. With their heads down, the Black Arms wouldn't know what hit them. He started moving towards the line of Humvees where the men of Yankee 3 were taking cover.

"Friendlies moving up!" He said, announcing their position to his fellow soldiers. He ducked behind the engine block of one of the vehicles and motioned for his squad to do the same. The Staff Sergeant shuffled over to the nearest member of Yankee 3 and tapped his shoulder.

"You know where I can find Yankee 3's CO?" He asked the soldier.

"You're looking at him," the soldier replied. "Please tell me you aren't what's left of Bravo 2." The captain motioned to Branson's squad.

"No sir," Branson replied. He waved his hand towards the way he had just came. "My Lt. And the rest of the platoon are just down the street, sir."

The Captain would pull Branson closer to the ground as a burst of incoming fire screamed overhead. Devon looked at him and asked, "Does your platoon have any SAWs?"

Branson nodded, "Yes sir, we have around four."

–––––

SAWs, or Squad Automatic Weapons, are portable machine guns that usually are fed from a box magazine. Within the dynamic of a squad, a member termed the Automatic Rifleman would be the one carrying a SAW. It is also common for a second member of a squad to carry extra magazines for the SAW due to the fact that the magazines employed with a SAW are typically large and heavy. The main purpose of a SAW is to provide effective suppressive fire to cover an advance or stall an enemy push, with the sound reasoning that a hundred or so continuous rounds of ammunition flying your way would discourage you from sticking your neck out of cover or running out in the open.

–––––

 _Downtown Westopolis_

 _Invasion Plus 2 Hours 07 Minutes_

 _2 Hours 42 Minutes Until Anvil Down Protocol_

The rest of Baker Platoon had moved up to the line of Humvees blocking the north-eastern part of 5th and Main, SAWs balanced with bipods on the hoods of the green vehicles and on the pavement. Branson and his team had once again been selected to lead the charge, tip of the spear against an alien horde. He didn't quite mind taking point as long as the SAW gunners put down good covering fire and didn't shoot him or any other members of the flanking team.

There were times he felt that the black combat uniform he wore bad its faults, especially fighting a mainly noir enemy. Some trigger-happy private fresh out of basic training could end your life just as easily as one of these things. But alas, this wasn't the first time an all black uniform was detrimental. This very same uniform had been issued when there had been a conflict out in the region of Area 99 a decade or so ago. Now Area 99 was located out in the desert quite a ways away from Station Square, and with the desert obviously comes temperatures that are none too friendly to darkly-clothed people. While he hadn't been there himself, he had heard stories from more senior G.U.N personnel of soldiers going mad with heat-haze or fainting in the middle of patrols due to dehydration. Everyone was issued desert uniforms in short order, but the oversight by G.U.N command on that situation was not soon forgotten.

The SAWs started belching rounds as soon as captain Devon gave the order, hundreds of rounds of ammunition peppering ruined cars and unaware Black Arms. The individual machine guns fired in short bursts, but the timing was staggered so it would appear as continuous fire to those down the street.

Taking his cue, Branson sprinted towards the other side of the street and into an alleyway, his gun trained in the direction of the Black Arms invaders. He slowed as he entered the alley, and waited for the rest of his team, who weren't far behind. The cacophony of bullets was still heard in the alley as the fire team hadn't let up their assault. The flanking team crept along the alley and exited around ten metres behind the Black Arms force.

"Pick your targets," Branson said, clicking on the laser sight attached to the barrel of his rifle. "We engage on my shot."

Each member of the flanking party quickly picked a target and murmured their confirmation to Branson. He in turn waited a couple seconds, making sure he had a good line of sight on his target, and then squeezed the trigger. The kick of the rifle dug into his shoulder as the bullet left the barrel and embedded itself into the back of one of the Black Arms soldiers. The monstrosity started to turn around, but three more bullets halted the alien's momentum and flung it to the ground. The crack of rifle-fire filled the air as other members of the flanking party engaged their targets, bringing them down in two to three shots.

The flanking team then carefully moved forward and checked the alien corpses. They did not get too close and stuck to the sidewalk where they would be in continuous view of the suppressing team just incase one of them was mistaken as an enemy. There was no point in checking the aliens for vitals as they wouldn't know where to look or what to look for, but they looked pretty dead. A couple members of the flanking party, including Royce, weren't too sure and just to be on the safe side put a couple more rounds into the heads of some of the Black Arms that had less bullet-holes than others.

Ssgt. Branson clicked his radio on and said, "All clear from the flanking party, we are clear to move up."

Once again at the front of the column, Branson and the rest of his squad cast their eyes down the street and deeper into downtown. Their eyes flickered from building to building, shop window to apartment doorway. A city that some of them had been to and enjoyed prior to this was looking more and more like a hellscape.

Royce looked around and said, "Sarge, why do I have a feeling that this is going to be a long day?"

Branson turned to him and replied, "Well Royce, we have around…" Branson would consult his chronometer that was attached to his wrist by a plastic strap. "A over under two and a half hours until the Air Force blows this place to kingdom come, and we want to be out of here before that, so it's not that much longer if you think about it."

The rest of Yankee 3 and Bravo 2 had caught up to them, bringing up the vehicles from both units. Their engines purred with anticipation as they idled, waiting for action. Every soldier present would be clambering into their assigned vehicles and checking the guns mounted on the roof of each Humvee. Lieutenant Raymond had seen the rest of his men enter their vehicles and waited on Royce and Branson.

"When I said 'Baker Platoon mount up'," began the lieutenant, "I meant everyone, unless you two are special somehow?"

"Err, no sir." Replied Branson, scratching the back of his neck. "I just didn't hear you, sir."

The lieutenant would sigh and walk back to his vehicle. Branson and Royce jogged to their green transport machine and climbed in. Branson looked at the city before him and muttered "Farther in to hell we go, soldiers marching row by row."

Royce looked at him quizzically. "Didn't know you were a poet, Sarge."

"I'm not," the staff sergeant replied. "I guess it's just the whole mood of this, ain't it?"

Royce grunted in agreement. Their driver looked back at the two before shaking his head. It seemed to him that the two in the back would be better off if they focused on the mission rather than if saying something witty that rhymes makes you a poet. The driver saw the Humvee in front pull away and he put his own into gear.

"Further and further into hell we go," the driver thought, trying his hand at some poetic creativity. "When we'll stop, nobody knows."

 **A/N: Welp, there goes another chapter, what do you think about the paragraph explaining what a Squad Automatic Weapon is? Should I do things like that with future military terms to make sure everyone has at least a basic understanding of what I'm talking about? I guess I should let you all know that your feedback will effect previous chapters in terms of grammar and structure. The changes are minor, but I try to roll them into one update. If you have any questions about anything, PM me or leave a review. Criticism is welcome, and if you feel the need to flame this story because of a lack of Sonic characters or you just don't like it, feel free to do so. The only thing I ask of you is that you also provide a way to make this story better if you so choose to commit arson to this story. Because if you don't show me how to make this better, you may very well see the same mistakes committed twice. Why do I stay up writing these things so late?**


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